The Mother's Secret

by Clare Swatman

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘Hello.’ She looks towards the door. ‘Is it just you, then?’

  He pulls his hat off and tucks it into the pocket of his coat as he shrugs out of it. ‘No, Gran’s coming in a bit.’ Georgie feels a shiver of apprehension at seeing the ferocious old woman again. ‘I talked to her last night, told her you just want to get to know us and she seems to have come round a bit. You’ll have to excuse her, though, because she’s spent the last thirty-seven years feeling angry. She’s not going to be able to shake that off straight away.’

  ‘I know. I understand that, I do.’

  ‘Mum’s not coming, though. Sorry. She’s just – she’s having one of her episodes. That’s what Gran always calls them. She just goes into herself, doesn’t want to talk, or see anyone. Not even me. I think it’s the shock.’

  ‘Oh God, I’m so sorry, Sam. I didn’t want to cause any trouble. I just – I didn’t really have any choice. You understand that, don’t you?’

  He nods. ‘It’s OK. There isn’t any other way you could have done it, not really. It was always going to be a shock, whatever you did. I’d have done the same.’

  Georgie’s grateful for the reassurance, even if it doesn’t really allay the guilt. Sam continues. ‘Anyway, Mum will be OK. Give her a few days and she’ll have pulled out of it and she’ll want to talk to you, I’m sure of it. It’s always the same.’

  Georgie nods, and folds her napkin in half and half again then smooths it down onto the table. She lifts her eyes to meet her brother’s.

  Her brother. She hasn’t even said it out loud yet, and it still feels like a foreign word rolling around in her mind.

  ‘So, what do we talk about today? To be honest, I don’t even know where to start.’

  ‘I know what you mean. It feels as though there’s so much to say that it’s actually easier to say nothing, isn’t it?’

  Georgie nods. ‘Exactly. But listen, you said something, the first time we met, about how you sometimes wished I’d never been born.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Georgie, that sounds awful.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. I mean, it did, but I’ve thought about it since and of course you must have felt that way, sometimes. Anyone would. I mean, a missing child is going to take up a lot of emotional space compared to one who’s always there, isn’t it?’

  Sam nods. ‘Yes, that’s exactly it. It’s just always felt as though, when Mum was with it, when she was being my mum, I mean, more than half of her was thinking about her missing daughter – about you – and there wasn’t much of her left for me. As though she cared about me less, because I was there. And when she wasn’t with it, when she was having one of her episodes, I might as well not have been there at all.’ He stops and traces his finger round the rim of his empty glass. ‘But I didn’t mean what I said. Not really. I’ve spent most of my life wondering whether you were still alive and, if you were, whether we’d be alike. And now I’ve met you and – well, it’s pretty fucking amazing, to be honest, Georgie. It just feels – right, being with you. Does that sound mad?’

  Sam’s face has flushed in the dim light of the restaurant.

  ‘No, it doesn’t sound mad at all.’ Georgie’s voice is soft. ‘I feel exactly the same way.’

  For a moment they sit there, neither looking at the other, lost in their own thoughts. Then the moment is broken by a movement at Georgie’s elbow. It’s the waiter.

  They order a bottle of house white and some bread. ‘I hope Gran will be here soon, I’m starving.’

  ‘Me too.’ Georgie lifts her gaze. ‘So, tell me about your dad. Our dad. What do you know about him?’

  Sam’s face hardens for a moment, and then the look is gone. But his voice has gone cold. ‘We don’t talk about him. We never have. Mum refuses and Gran says he’s not worth talking about.’

  ‘So you don’t know anything about him at all, then?’

  Sam shakes his head. ‘Only that it was a one-night-stand thing, and that when he found out she was pregnant he didn’t want anything to do with her – with us. He was a right loser, Gran reckons, only seventeen; she says he did a runner because he was scared. But—’ He stops, thinks for a moment. ‘It was weird, though. Because when my sister was snatched – when, you know, you were taken – apparently the police thought it was our father’s sister who’d taken you. That’s why they stopped looking for anyone else, at least for a while.’

  ‘Why did they think that?’

  Sam shrugs. ‘I don’t really know any details, just that they thought it was her. I think she was a bit older than him, and a bit crazy and – well, anyway, they never found anything and never proved anything and so I guess the case got dropped. Except for us, it never did. It was never-ending. Mum – well, I don’t think she ever stopped believing she’d get you back one day, not really.’

  ‘And don’t you ever think about trying to find him? Your dad, I mean.’

  ‘Find him? God no, never.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Sam’s eyes flick up. ‘What do you mean, oh?’

  Georgie’s gaze meets his. ‘Nothing. I just—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I just think I’d always want to know who my dad was. I mean – ’ she pauses, aware she’s going into territory that Sam’s very defensive about – ‘I never met my dad – the dad I thought was mine, I mean – but I’d have done anything to have known him, if I had the chance. But I didn’t have that choice to make because – well, because he was dead before I was even born.’

  ‘What, and you think that because mine is alive, or at least as far as we know, that makes him worth knowing?’ His voice is sneering, and Georgie wishes she could take it back, go back to the beginning and start again, explain herself better.

  ‘Well, I suppose—’

  ‘No. No way. I’ve never wanted to meet him, not at all. He wanted nothing to do with us, with me, and that’s that. I’ve had Mum and Gran my whole life and that’s all I need. All I’ve ever needed.’ He stops and his voice softens again, warmth coming back into his eyes. ‘Anyway, I’ve got you now too. I’ve got a sister. Why do I need him?’

  Georgie can’t help but think about Kate, and she feels a pang. She’d love her sister to be here now, talking to Sam, getting to know him. And she knows that, by pursuing this, by getting to know her other family, the one she’s only just found out about, she’s alienating the people she loves and who love her. Who have always loved her. But all she can do is hope that, one day, Kate will come round, that she’ll understand why Georgie’s doing this, and let her back in. She doesn’t want to lose her because, even if they’re not really sisters by blood, Kate will always be a big sister to her.

  ‘Georgie? Are you OK? You’ve gone pale.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about – about Kate.’

  ‘Your sister?’

  Georgie nods.

  ‘Is she not happy about this? About you meeting us?’

  ‘No. No, she’s not. She thinks I should have stayed well away and – well, never mind. But I think she’ll be OK.’ She doesn’t really have any idea whether Kate will come round, but she can only hope. ‘Anyway, let’s talk about something else.’

  The wine arrives and Sam pours them both a large glass. Georgie takes a huge gulp then wipes her arm across her mouth. ‘God, I needed that.’ She laughs and Sam does the same, slamming the glass down onto the checked tablecloth. ‘Me too.’

  They both chuckle, relaxed at last.

  ‘Room for an old woman here?’ The raspy voice cuts through Georgie’s thoughts and she looks up to find Margaret lowering herself slowly into the seat next to Sam.

  ‘Hi, Gran.’ Sam leans over and plants a kiss on her cheek and she trains her gaze on Georgie.

  ‘Sorry I’m late. Have I missed much?’ She’s slightly out of breath from her brief walk across the restaurant and she grabs the wine bottle and fills her glass and takes a large gulp.

  ‘Gran, be careful.’ Sam looks at Georgie.
‘Gran doesn’t drink much, she’s not meant to, it interferes with her heart medication. Doesn’t it, Gran?’ She shoots him a look and he rolls his eyes. ‘Not that she takes any notice of me.’

  ‘I’m just having the one, Sam, don’t fuss.’

  Sam looks back at the already half-empty glass on the table and gives a helpless shrug.

  ‘You two carry on. I’ll just sit here and listen.’

  But Margaret’s arrival has thrown Georgie, and the ease with which the conversation was starting to flow disappears as quickly as it had developed. Georgie takes another sip of wine as well, to cover her awkwardness.

  ‘We were just talking about – stuff,’ Sam says.

  ‘What sort of stuff?’

  ‘You know, family stuff. There’s a lot to talk about.’

  ‘You’re telling me.’ Margaret pulls a piece of bread from the basket and shoves it in her mouth. The few seconds of silence it affords gives Georgie the time to take a couple of deep breaths to compose herself. She refuses to be intimidated by this woman.

  ‘We were talking about our fathers, actually.’ Georgie holds her head high and looks right at Margaret. ‘I was saying I wish I’d known mine, and I wondered whether Sam had ever thought of looking for his dad. After all, he is my dad as well, so I thought . . . ’ She trails off, the look on the old woman’s face suddenly making her feel not so brave.

  Margaret drops the piece of bread she was about to push into her mouth and puts her wine glass down with a bang.

  ‘No, he hasn’t. He never will either, will you, Sam?’ Her voice is almost a hiss and, despite Sam’s reaction earlier, Georgie is still surprised at the fury that rages in the old woman’s eyes at the mention of their father. Margaret turns her gaze towards Georgie. ‘And you, young lady. You’d better not have any ideas of swanning in here and thinking it’s OK to start looking for him either. It’s one thing to meet you. It’s put Kimberley right back to square one and I’m not too happy about that, but I can deal with it. But it’s another thing entirely to come in here and to make things worse by threatening to start looking for that – that lowlife.’ She spits the word out, crumbs spraying across the table. ‘I never want to lay eyes on him again. Never.’ She drains her glass and pours the rest of the bottle in. Georgie is silent, watching her, and neither she nor Sam says anything as Margaret waves the waiter over and orders another bottle of wine.

  For the rest of the meal the conversation is stilted. Georgie tries to be polite, but she’s furious about the way Margaret spoke to her. There was no need for that. She just wants to find out more.

  It’s not until Margaret takes herself off to the toilet after the main course that they both relax.

  ‘Georgie, I’m so sorry. Gran – she doesn’t mean to be so – well, you know. Aggressive. She’s just been through a lot – we all have, and she’s very protective of us.’

  ‘I know. I just – I didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that.’

  ‘No, you didn’t, and I will talk to her later. But she never drinks and she’s had quite a bit of wine already, so I don’t think now is the time to call her out on it. In fact – ’ he glances at his watch – ‘I probably ought to be getting her home, let her sleep it off. Mum will kill me if she drinks any more.’

  ‘OK.’ Georgie pushes the leftover food round her plate. She’s lost her appetite now anyway.

  ‘I’ll speak to her. She’ll come round, I promise. But just give her time.’

  They stop as Margaret comes back to the table and the atmosphere darkens again.

  Sam turns towards her. ‘I think we should get the bill and take you home.’

  ‘I don’t need to go home. I’d like to stay a bit longer, get to know Georgie a bit better.’ Her words are a little slurred and Sam’s face is furrowed in a frown.

  ‘But you’ve had too much wine, Gran.’

  Georgie looks away, trying to seem as though she’s not listening.

  ‘I’ve only had a couple of glasses.’ She slugs back another mouthful. ‘Anyway, I thought we were here to talk. And that’s what we’re doing, talking.’

  Sam shrugs helplessly and slumps back in his chair. It’s clear Margaret’s not ready to go yet, and there’s no way anyone is going to change her mind.

  Georgie leans forward. ‘Let’s order some pudding, then. And coffee?’ She looks at Sam.

  ‘Yes, coffee’s a good idea.’

  Margaret rolls her eyes. ‘I don’t want fucking coffee. This is meant to be a celebration, I mean – come on, it’s been thirty-seven years since we last saw you, Louisa—’

  ‘It’s Georgie, Gran.’

  ‘Georgie, Louisa, all the same thing.’ She takes another gulp, waving her arm around dismissively. ‘Anyway, it’s been a long bloody time, I’m not about to start pussyfooting around now. If we want to get to know each other, then let’s get to know each other.’ She slams her glass down again and some wine splashes over the edge, spreading outwards across the white tablecloth. Georgie glances at Sam. He looks mortified. But he says nothing, instead letting Margaret get out some of the things that have been stored up, waiting to erupt for so many years. Georgie feels a sense of dread creep over her, as though something terrible is about to happen. There’s no way this can end well.

  If Margaret won’t go, then maybe she should. She goes to stand but Margaret’s having none of it.

  ‘Wait, wait, where are you going?’

  ‘I just—’ Georgie stops, sits down again.

  ‘Come on, let’s talk, then. There’s so much to talk about. I mean, I bet he hasn’t told you about Kim’s depression, about how when she was really bad there’d be weeks on end when it was just me and Sam? About how she tried to kill herself once? About the years he spent crying himself to sleep?’ She looks at Georgie and then at Sam. ‘No? Oh well, then there’s lots to talk about.’ She drains her glass and refills it, sloshing it over the edge. ‘And you – ’ she jabs her finger towards Georgie – ‘you want to know why we don’t talk about his father? Sorry, about your father? Well, he was a good-for-nothing waste of space, for one thing. Didn’t want to know when Kimberley was pregnant, wanted to know even less when you were taken and Kim was grieving. Just stayed away and left us to cope alone. Probably for the best, really, looking back.’

  Margaret pauses, takes another mouthful of wine, and for a moment Georgie wonders whether she’s going to carry on speaking or whether she’s run out of steam. But then she starts again, still as angry. In fact, angrier, her voice now a low hiss.

  ‘And as for that bloody mother of yours. Don’t know how she’s got the gall to call herself that, stupid bloody bitch. I mean, it’s bad enough taking someone else’s baby, but to keep her, bring her up as her own, and never give a damn what pain she was causing someone else. Good God—’ The words are like bullets now, hitting the tablecloth and bouncing back to hit Georgie right in the heart. ‘I’ve been thinking. She deserves to be properly punished for what she did.’

  ‘What? Gran, what do you mean?’

  Margaret’s head swivels towards her grandson, her eyes like slits, before she shifts her gaze to Georgie.

  ‘I’m saying, dear, that I’m going to tell the police.’

  Georgie gasps.

  ‘But Gran! We agreed. You said you wouldn’t do this.’

  Her head swivels back to Sam and she sways a little, almost falling off her chair. ‘I did, didn’t I? But now I’ve changed my mind. Why should this, this woman – ’ she jerks her hand wildly, almost knocking a wine glass over – ‘get away with this, with destroying a whole family?’ She shakes her head. ‘No. Something needs to be done.’ Her words are slurred, and her eyelids are drooping, tired; it’s clear she’s had far too much to drink. But Georgie can’t ignore what the old woman’s just said, her words like a juggernaut setting out to destroy.

  ‘Sam? Will she really go to the police?’ Georgie’s voice is a whisper as Margaret fusses about in her handbag.

  Sam shakes his head. �
��I don’t know. I don’t think so.’ He stands and shrugs his coat onto his shoulders. ‘But I need to get her home now, let her sleep this off. Mum’s going to kill me for letting her drink too much anyway.’ He bends down and helps Margaret to her feet. ‘Come on, Gran. Let’s go.’

  He turns back to Georgie. ‘I’m sorry, Georgie. This wasn’t how this was meant to go. I’ll sort it out, I promise.’ He throws some notes down on the table, then tugs Margaret by the arm. Georgie watches as the pair of them walk unsteadily across the restaurant towards the door. As it opens and the cold air blasts through, Sam turns back to Georgie and gives a little wave. Georgie raises her hand in reply and realizes it’s shaking. And then the door closes behind them and they’re gone, leaving Georgie sitting there, alone.

  15

  9–10 November 2016

  Georgie’s head hurts and she squints against the light creeping through a gap in the curtains. She closes her eyes again and rolls over to look at the clock on the bedside table: 8.40. She’s slept for hours.

  As she sits up, a wave of nausea washes over her and she winces, remembering the wine she drank when she got home last night, and the conversations that had led up to it.

  She takes a sip of water and props her head against the pillow, trying to piece together what happened, and where it leaves her now.

  First was Margaret’s threat to go to the police. She doesn’t know yet whether she means it, but if she does, where does that leave them? This wasn’t something Georgie had considered when she’d started her search, and now it had all gone wrong, threatening to tear her family apart even more. How can she stop her?